


Nobody dies from a cold

by deducemyheart



Series: How to embarrass your boyfriend [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, stiles has a cold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 01:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deducemyheart/pseuds/deducemyheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let’s go to the woods, they said. It will be fun, they said. It doesn’t matter that it has been rained, they said. There’s only a little humidity, they said. You’re falling behind, Stiles, they said. Watch out for that puddle, no one said. Stupid werewolves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody dies from a cold

**Author's Note:**

> This is all happening in an alternate universe in which no one is dying, leaving, or having existencial crisis with people they don't know anything about.  
> Let's call it Normal Beacon Hills but with Werewolves.  
> Also I was in the mood of something fluff and domestic, so sorry about that.  
> Oh, and as always I don't have beta and english is not my first language, so sorry for the mistakes.

Let’s go to the woods, they said. It will be fun, they said. It doesn’t matter that it has been rained, they said. Stupid werewolves. Stiles bemoaned from the nest of blankets in which he was, watching without seeing _The Return of the Jedi._ Not that he didn't find it interesting, despite having lost count of the times he had seen it, but watery eyes, headache and cough, make it difficult to follow the plot even of an episode of SpongeBob SquarePants. There's only a little humidity, they said. You're falling behind, Stiles, they said. Watch out for that puddle, no one said. Stupid werewolves.

He coughed again just in time to miss how they gave permission to the ship of Han Solo and cia to enter in the second moon of Endor and from the spasm almost ended on the floor. His current status was due to the fall in the bigger and colder puddle from all over California, and its subsequent return home with his soaked clothes. All his fault, of course. His fault for wanting to spend time with his friends who are heartless that show no pity for the poor human of slow reflexes. His fault, because he could have stayed with Derek in the loft but decided it was better idea to go out to nature. His fault, because on leaving called him boring and grumpy, and after that his pride had kept him from go back there to change clothes, even though Derek's apartment was closer than his home. The moral of the story would have been obvious; _if you do not listen to Derek, you end bad._ So thank you but no, thanks. So actually if you thought a little was not his fault really. Yes, it was clear, his cold was because of Derek.

 Maybe that was the reason why he hadn't called Derek, so he didn't feel guilty. He was such a good boyfriend like that. Nothing to do with not wanting that Derek look at him with pity and scolding at the same time, he'd had enough of that with his father that morning. By not getting up for breakfast his dad had gone to wake him up before leaving to work so he wasn't late for class, only to encounter a feverish Stiles that, yes, was awake, but unable to move. As the good parent he was, the Sheriff called to he station to inform that he was going to be a little late and brought food and medicines to his helpless son. All of this without removing the disapproving look, of course, that that says "you can't be trusted with your own welfare". It was a look that his father dedicated to him often. After taking everything without complaining, with the exception of the cold medicine that thing was so disgusting that is was impossible to take it without at least put a face of disgust, Stiles fell back asleep after listening his father's farewell saying he would call at noon and noticed a light kiss at the top of his head.

Noon had come and was leaving but his father hadn't called, although it wasn't something he was worried about; he would have too much work, he wouldn't have his phone with him, he would have forgotten him, he would have found a horde of werewolves and had him imprisoned in a basement... ok, maybe he was a little worried. Wild imagination, he called it, hysterical mother complex, said Scott. Careful not taking his hands off the blankets, Stiles took his phone and called his dad.

"Stiles?" he had the Sheriff voice, what meant that someone was with him.

"Why didn't you call me?" oh God, his voice was thick and low. He coughed a couple times but didn't get any better, just gave him a headache. More headache.

"Well, I didn't want to bother you if you were resting, you almost dropped dead when I left." a door closed in the background and the Sheriff let out a soft sigh "I figured you'd call when you wake up."

"You don't sound worry, weren't you worried that your only and dear son was sick and home alone?", now it was a good thing that his voice was so broken, it gave him a dramatic effect and Stiles loved it dramatic effects.

"Stiles, you have a cold, it's not the end of the world." his dad was not affected by his interpretation "If you have had will to go down to see  _Star Wars_ , you are not that bad."

"How did you know that?" Stiles looked suspiciously around as if he expected to see his dad watching from the window or hiding behind the couch.

"I'm a very smart man who has seen many colds of yours, plus a reputed Sheriff with a great skill for research and deduction," he laughed briefly "and I can hear it on the background, of course. I know that damn dialog by memory."

"Pfff, that's cheating" Stiles said laughing with him that turned soon in an awful coughing fit.

"That sounds like hell, son. Eat something in a while and take the medicine again, I left it on the kitchen table. I'll be back for dinner, okay?"

"Yes, dad. I will be a good boy." Stiles replied trying to put a high pitched voice to which was incapable at the moment.

"That does worry me."

"Ha. Ha. See you later, love you, dad."

"Love you too, son. Take care."

When his father hanged up, Stiles remained a few seconds listening to the tone of the line dead, more out of laziness than anything else, until the phone itself ended the call. He didn't bother to leave it on the table, dropped it into his nest of blankets and wrapped them stronger around him, overwhelmed by a sudden exhaustion, didn't know if result of the fever or the tranquility after talking with his dad. Eat something, he'd said. Although for that he had to get up and go to the kitchen, which now seemed far away and, above all, cold. Why there wasn't a way to eat without have to cook? Wait a second... He was almost sure to know what it was called that miracle, if only his brain cooperated a little. But it seemed that it had other plans, about taking a nap apparently; his eyes closed against his will and he could even feel his breathing slowing down. With one last look at Luke on the screen, he fell to the side of the couch and, for once, listened to his brain.

Soon as he closed his eyes, or so it seemed to him, the doorbell rang. Well, the doorbell wasn't ringing by itself probably, someone would be at the other side of the door, but in Stiles's humble opinion that person could go to hell because he was not getting up. He wasn't expecting company, all his friends were in class or, in the case of some grumpy, that he was in class. No one would come there to find him. Whoever it was, it wasn't worth the effort. Stiles turned on himself to snuggle into the sofa and continued his nap but the doorbell, the little shit behind the door, insisted again. It seemed that they had no intention of leaving soon, and if he ever listened again that shrill sound digging in his sensitive brain maybe he will kill someone. Muttering under his breath the different ways of torture he knew, Stiles stood up and walked towards the entrance door with the blanket still wrapped tightly around him. Like a cape, he thought looking at himself in the mirror next to the door. Cool. His joy at his discovery evaporated when he opened the door and saw who was on the other side.

"What the...?Are you fucking kidding me?" Stiles shouted all that his cracked voice allowed him, holding the door as if he was to stamp it in the face of his guest at any moment.

"What's wrong? I don't think there is anything strange about me coming to see you." Derek watched him from the porch with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, feeling clearly superior.

"The strange is not that you came, you asshole. The _strange_  is that you always invade our house through my window but choose when I am sick to use the fucking door. That's the fucking strange." while talking, Stiles turned and headed for the living room knowing that Derek will keep hearing anything perfectly.

"Oh, are you sick? I didn't know." heard him say, in a tone of voice that made it clear that he knew, followed by the door closing and for a moment afterwards to have a hand on his forehead, which, wait a second, was cold. Was Derek sick? He never had cold hands, usually he was like a stove in the middle of August, but werewolves doesn't get sick easily, which means that is could be something serious and they should... "You have a high fever, have you taken something?"

Stiles looked at him for a moment, confused. He had watery eyes again and saw Derek blurry, his other senses were not much better. Getting up to the door barefoot maybe had not been one of his most brilliant ideas, however cool was his cape-blanket. 

"Um, yes, but I think the effect is over and I must take it again." Derek's hand slipped from his forehead to his cheek, and ran his thumb through Stiles's eye taking a few tears with him. Now he could see him well with his left eye, and if he closed a bit the other he could see almost concern in his face. Well, in his eyebrows. Derek's emotions were mostly found in its eyebrows.

Without a word, Derek moved away from Stiles but without removing his hand, such that when he walked toward the kitchen his fingers traced a patch on his cheek to where he was going. He used to do it often, Stiles had noticed. It always caused the same effect, forced him to follow, first with his gaze, and later with his whole body, as if his fingers were pulling him. Despiste the annoying cold, this time was not different.

When Stiles reached the kitchen, Derek watched the inside of the fridge with a poker face. Understandable, Stiles thought remembering the state of this. He walked past him to the kitchen table dragging his cape and collapsed into a chair, quickly forming a nest around him. Only his head sticked out a little, just enough to keep watching Derek, with his back to him. After several seconds, Derek turned his head, looked at Stiles, and turned again to look at the fridge like he had the hope that anything had appeared suddenly. Stiles wanted to tell something about how irresponsible it was to have the fridge open so long, but had so much troble breathing that decided that talk was not worth it. Hooray, almost heard from Derek.  Only that Derek couldn't say anything because all that conversation had occurred in his head. What he did though was close the fridge and passed him, ruffing his hair. Wow, he really produced a lot of pity if now Derek acted like he was a Golden Retriever puppy.

The sound of movement in the kitchen reached Stiles's ears; pots and running water, and what seemed to be an unnecesary amount of opening and closing cabinets. Too overwhelmed by the noise, Stiles hid a little more in his blanket, like a turtle. Still, he could hear Derek's voice alongside the bubbling water, but without understanding what he said.

"I can't hear you." murmured lifting his head just a little "Your voice can not trespass my Fortress of Solitude."

"I was saying," Derek peered from behind him, which made him look upside down and almost made Stiles laugh but stopped, remembering his coughing fits "oh, amazing Batman, that why you didn't tell me you were sick."

"The Fortress of Solitude is from Superman, you dumbass." Stiles buried again his head in his arms.

"Whatever." said Derek in the exasperated tone of someone who has had the same conversation too many times "But don't avoid my question."

"How did you know that I was sick?" he could hear movement in the kitchen again, so he waited a few seconds for his answer, but seeing that Derek remained silent, stuck his head and turned with indignant gesture "I asked you how you knew I was sick!" his throat protested for the effort and started to itch a little bit more.

"Why should I answer your question when you don't answer mine?" said Derek without turning around.

"Because I am sick!" Stiles coughed, partly faked, partly because his throat was trying to get out of his body "You're supposed to take car... treat me well, right?"

Derek turned with a wooden spoon in his hand and pointed him with it, placing it under his nose, "Take care of you? And how I am supposed to do that if you don't let me? If you don't tell me that you are! You're a fucking stubborn child, arrogant and bipolar, and... oh god, please, don't cry." Derek's expression quickly changed to utter panic.

"I'm not crying, you idiot!" Stiles pushed away the spoon with one swipe "Your damn spoon is hot and is making my eyes water."

Derek changed his gesture and both of them stared at one another frowning in silence. Oblivious to them, the food in the fire began to boil and after a few seconds Derek left the battle to respond.

Stiles wiped his face with the blanket and carefully approached Derek, but when he opened his mouth to talk a coughing fit him so hard that made him bend stopped him. While trying to catch his breath holding his stomach as if he had punched, a glass of water magically materialize in front of his nose. Well, not exactly, as found by lookink up. Derek was looking at the fire completely impassive, but he held out the glass that he had taken for god knows where. Stiles stood and took it to drink.

"Thank you." he whispered between sips, his voice even more hoarse than before. Like all answer Derek nodded without looking at him.

"Sorry for not..." Stiles hesitated, moved closer to the counter and leaned his hip on it so he could see Derek's profile at least "For not telling you. That I had a cold. I was just trying not to worry you, you know, this is not important with everything else.

The most innocent of smiles appeared on Stiles's lips to accompany his story, but Derek snorted and it suddenly dissapeared.

"What? Oh my god, you don't believe me?" indignant, Stiles leaned closer to Derek, who finally gave him a look that clearly said _that's bullshit and you know I know it._ "Sounds implausible that I behave like an adult able to fend for himsel? No. Please, don't answer, just, don't. Save me from your sarcastic comment."

"Sit at the table." Derek replied, trying to hide a grin without much success.

Stiles returned to his previous seat making clear with his seating that he was upset with everyone on that room. It takes time to develop suck mastery of body language, but once you get it is very useful. When Derek put the soup in front of him, his body clearly said _really tired that you don't take me seriously, idiot_ ,  _my throat itches like hell_ and only a small part of  _I'm touched that you cooked for me._

Without breaking the silence, Stiles took the spoon that Derek had placed next to the plate and dipped in the soup so violently that splashed on the table. When he lifted the spoon, Derek caught his wrist and stopped him before he reached his mouth. Stiles looked at him without raising his head and raised his eyebrows.

"Not yet." Derek leaned toward him still holding his wrist, which remained locked between them with the spoon "Still hot."

In slow motion rose Stiles's hand until the spoon was at mouth level and blew softly. His breath and the smell of food hit Stiles face, who kept his eyes fixed on his pursed lips.

"How can you do," began, his voice hoarse for maybe other reasons than the cold, but still almost a whisper "that blow to cool the food results sexy. Only you, Derek. Only you."

Derek outlined a small smile and released Stiles's wrist, which kept locked in the spot.

"Try now." said leaning back again.

For a moment Stiles didn't react. His hand remained suspended in front of him without tremble, miraculously, and he looked at Derek letting his gaze wander over his face. The sounds reached him in that strange form in which everything seems distant and thundering at the same time; his breathing, heavy and slow, seemed like it could be heard throughout the city. With a small sigh, looked away from Derek and sipped the soup. Still warm, but his throat appreciated greatly. A slight smile crossed his lips as the memories came to him, through the haze of the cold.

"Didn't know you could cook."

"I made you soup, Stiles, it's not like I can dedicate to fine cuisine."

"Mom used to prepare me soup when I caught a cold. Which happened pretty often because I never had the patience to dry my hair, or don't go barefoot around the house or, you know, get a damn umbrella for school." he left the spoon on the plate without releasing it "She never get angry with me for it, even though it was completely my fault, she said that it was her work as my mother to take care of me when I was sick and loved me more than ever. So I took advantage shamelessly. I turned into a dramatic spoiled whiner just so she look after me even further." Stiles chuckled slightly and looked up at Derek "But as soon as I felt better, she scolded me so much that I felt guilty for days. It's been a long time since I caught a cold."

Derek returned the smile, less wider than his.

"Is that why you didn't say anything?"

"What? No, no, no. I didn't say anything because you are a pain in the ass, and as I've said before, I can take care of myself, Master Chef." Stiles took another spoonful, but this time blew it himself, to reinforce his point.

Derek watched him in silence and then got up. A quick glance between spoonfuls told Stiles that he was picking up the few cookware he had used and ordering the kitchen.

"But anyway," said Stiles looking again his food "you know. Thank you. For the soup. And for coming to see how I was. But mostly for the soup, because I don't what has but this thing is to die for."

"You're welcome, Stiles"

"Are you going to tell me now how you knew I was sick?"

"No."

"Oh my god, Derek, you are such a drama queen."

"That's why we make such a good couple."

Against his will a stupid smile formed on Stiles's face, like every time Derek reminded him that they were together. All those times that he had mocked Scott for having the same reaction, and he ended being another dumb lovestruck. It was one of the first things he did when started with Derek, apologize to his best friend. And threaten him that if he did the same now and mocked him, he would put wolfsbane in his morning cereal.

Stiles finished the soup, draining every last drop making Derek look at the ceiling murmuring _exaggerated_ , as he put closer the medicine and a glass of water.

"You are the angriest nurse I've ever seen." Stiles said as he watched Derek picked his plate. Derek growled in response, but the corners of his lips pulled upwards. Stiles sometimes thought that Derek's favorite pastime was to pretend he didn't find his comments funny. He took his medicines and slid into the chair until his ass was on the edge. He was starting to notice how the exhaustion and a full stomach was making him sleepy. As if reading his intentions, which probably he could do, Derek put his hand over his head and shook it gently.

"Hey, this isn't a good place to sleep. Come on, get to your room."

"Nope." murmured without open his eyes, half smile on his lips "Carry me, I don't feel like moving."

The movement was so fast that for a moment he didn't know was going on, then realized than no, the world wasn't ending, nor any supernatural creature attacked him. Well, actually a supernatural creature was attacking him, Derek had risen him from his chair and he was being carried. Bride mode. Blanket and all.

"Jesus, Derek, what are you doing!" Stiles shifted to look down but thought it wasn't such a great idea and stood completely still in Derek's arms as they left the kitchen.

"I'm taking you to your room, as you asked me." however much Derek tried to keep a straight face, Stiles could see the smirk from his position. Which wasn't a bad position, once past the inicial impression. Derek's jawline and neck curve were pure perfection from every angle.

Especially from below, as he had already checked several times.

So Stiles dedicated himself to enjoy the ride to his room, snuggling increasingly to Derek's chest. He was so relaxed that didn't realize until the third time that Derek cleared his throat that they had stopped and were already on his room, right on the edge of his bed.

"Is it just me or we have taken a lot to get here? Have you made a detour through the woods before going up stairs or what?"

"Just your imagination. The cold must be affecting your brain."

Derek placed him on the bed and picked up the sheets from the floor to cover him without bothering to remove the blanket in which Stiles continued wrapped, as an human burrito. Then, he sat on the edge and looked at Stiles with a small smile, one that was truly sincere, one of which almost were meant for him. Stiles went closer to him and wrapped his body forming a C in a sort of hug with minimal effort. Or worm-hug, he wasn't sure what was the best name and it was obvious that the medicine was starting to make him too sleepy because his thoughts escaped him and his eyes closed.

"I think I'm going to sleep now."

"You think?" Derek started to stroke his head running his finger into his hair, not helping at all to that he could finish the conversation.

"M' pretty sure" Stiles said, barely a whisper. All his remaint energy was focused on moving his head slightly to accompany Derek's touch "You know that sleep is not one of my priorities when I have you in my bed, but now... mmmmhh"

Derek laughed at the change in Stiles's expression when he began to scratch behind his ear. He leaned down and kissed him gently on his forehead.

"I better go and let you rest, I have to do a couple of things in town" he whispered against his temple.

"No, don't go. Stay a little longer." without opening his eyes, Stiles pulled his fingers from under the blanket to grab Derek's shirt and he could feel his smile against his skin.

"First you didn't want me to come and now you didn't want me to go?" he teased.

"First I didn't want you in my life and now I couldn't bear it without you in it." Stiles replied sleepily.

So sleepily, that missed how Derek held his breath and his hands trembled after his comment. But didn't miss when he lay down beside him taking his hand that still was holding his shirt, and hugged him tightly. Stiles smiled and buried his face in the curve of Derek's neck, even though the warmth was starting to be too much. He would have time to complain when he wake up, something told him that Derek would be exactly in the same place then, holding him.


End file.
